Small Fires

Within the influence of innocence, you were dressed to

kill.

Pulling styles from the atmosphere, you could have

dressed us all.

As we surrendered to the worn jets, "impossible to

crash, impossible to fail", like the dim lights on the

dash, as we were pulling out of anywhere on any other

road.

Now I can tell by the way the rain hits the glass that

it wants to be cold. It wants to be snow.

Is it falling there, obscuring small fires that deign

another shining front-page spread, where old worn men

conspire?

So much for Saturdays and other days when lives are at

stake.

God forgive us for the hatred, for the risks that we

take. Boys forget promises from both coasts.

What would it take to get out now?

Is this what they call the end? Are we sleeping on a

dark star?

Is this some saint we all forgot?

Is she burning in a parked car?

Violence is so slow, and the patience will do us in.

So mothers, stop looking for your sons in the wood,

because you will find them on CNN.

That's when you will try, but you can't evict the sun.

It lights on one hour, every morning, every day, when

you know you are the one.